


Metanoia

by gogolucky13



Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, Swearing, brief mention of abusive relationship/violence, mention of infertility, negative self-talk/thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogolucky13/pseuds/gogolucky13
Summary: In the last stages of his recovery, Bucky goes on a spiritual retreat where he meets you, and finds more of himself along the way.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 17





	Metanoia

**Day 1 (Arrival):**

The first thing Bucky notices when he steps off the plane is its hot. Not the type of hot that has your skin sticking in uncomfortable places, or the kind that brings so much humidity it’s stuffy and difficult to breath. It’s just...hot. He doesn’t mind much, though. The warmth is welcomed after so many years on ice. Besides, he’s spent the last several weeks adjusting to tropical climate in Wakanda, so he’s used to it for the most part.

The second thing Bucky notices is his right arm is beginning to cramp from carrying his luggage on one side. The heaviness of his duffel bag on his shoulder and the suitcase in his hand creates an ache that has him stopping to readjust the baggage to even out the weight distribution. He’s been out of cryo for a little bit, but he’s still learning how to get on with only one arm.

After he came out of cryo, he was offered a replacement arm for the one that was damaged, but he declined. Too many bad memories resonated in his mind whenever he looked at the thing or thought of it. To him, it was never a part of his body, it wasn’t an arm—it was a weapon. He figured it better to just not have one at all, even if it does make things a little trickier. And of course, there are fleeting moments of self-consciousness. Is he seen as weaker? Less attractive? Will people only see a missing part of him and nothing else? He’s still working through those thoughts, too.

Finally, the last thing Bucky notices is this place is fucking beautiful. He stands for a moment outside the resort lobby, gazing at the luscious greenery and colorful flowers, taking it all in. He’s seen exotic landscape before in Wakanda, but there’s just something different about beingsomewhere completely new and experiencing it for the first time. He loves it.

When he finally steps into the hotel, Bucky is met with a wave of cold air, and the little hairs that have fallen out of his bun swirl around into his face. Before he can move further into the lobby, he has to stop and push the strands away. A sign then catches his eye and it creates a little stir of excitement mixed with uncertainty in his stomach.

_Welcome to Metanoia in beautiful Costa Rica! Your journey awaits you..._

A spiritual retreat to Costa Rica was the last step in his recovery. His mind has been reset, he’s sorted through most of his metaphorical baggage with his therapist—baggage that’s a lot heavier and creates a bigger ache in his heart and mind than what he is currently dealing with—and he’s reached the final step in moving forward with his new life.

Taking a steadying breath, Bucky decides it’s time to start this journey and heads towards the check-in desk.

“Hello, welcome to Metanoia,” the petite blonde behind the counter greets.

She wears a smile that matches her perky attitude, and it brings a small sense of ease to Bucky’s nerves. The people here are nice, not that he had any reason to believe they wouldn’t be, but it’s comforting to know it’s true. He notices her quick glance to his left side though, which has him leaning further onto his right arm in an attempt to hide the emptiness that’s there.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky awkwardly replies, clearing his throat before continuing, “Uh, I’m checking in for the weeklong retreat,” a slight furrow to his brow and another throat clear because _no shit, dumbass_ , everyone checking in at this place is here for the retreat. He could still use some more practice interacting with people, he supposes.

“Wonderful!” The blonde replies, not at all phased by the obviousness of his statement. “I’ll just need your last name, then.”

Her smile stretches across her face and Bucky thinks she has the whitest teeth he’s ever seen.

“Barnes.”

“Great, thank you,” she says, turning her attention to the computer screen before her.

The sound of keyboard clicks fills the space between them while Bucky waits for her to finish confirming his reservation.

“Alright, Mr. Barnes,” she begins, pulling out a series of papers and pamphlets, “here is your room key. You’ll be staying in the southwest side of the resort, which means you’ll have an amazing view of the sunset each night.” She pauses to give him a smile, which he returns because that does sound nice.

Next she pulls out the pamphlet and opens it up. “And here is some information on what you can expect during your stay, including activities and a schedule for group meetings and workshops. There’s a Welcome mixer planned for tonight where you’ll get a chance to meet everyone.”

Bucky takes a moment, glancing at all the paperwork before he begins folding it up to stuff into a side pocket of his duffle.

“Okay, great. Thank you.”

Just as he reaches for his suitcase to head towards his room, the woman speaks again.

“Oh, Mr. Barnes,” she calls, bringing Bucky’s attention back to her. “During your stay, we ask that you leave any electronic devices with the front desk. Without the distraction, it allows our guests to fully immerse themselves in following their journey.”

“I, uh, I don’t have a phone,” he bashfully admits, giving the woman a weak smile. He was too caught up in his recovery to bother with getting himself one. Besides, he doesn’t see the need, and is still a bit resistant to embracing every part of the 21st century. One step at a time.

“Okay, well, never mind then,” the blonde replies. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

One more toothy grin from the front desk woman and Bucky is finally on his way to begin the last step in his journey of changing his mindset for the better.

The interior of the hotel is just as mesmerizing as the outside, which causes Bucky to get distracted and he ends up turned around a handful of times on the way to his room. But eventually, he’s walking up to a door with an iron _302_ on it. His shoulder throbs in excited anticipation to be freed from his heavy duffle as he inserts the room key.

White. Everything is white Bucky sees when he steps inside. There’s a few pop of bright colors sprinkled around the room in the form of abstract art on the walls, but other than that it’s white. He sighs, dropping his suitcase and duffle bag onto the tiled floor then collapses backwards onto the queen sized bed.

A million thoughts run through Bucky’s mind as he gazes at the palm tree inspired ceiling fan. The faux wooden leaves of the slowly spinning blades holds his attention, the repetition of it helping to calm the last little bit of anxiety that’s lingering.

_Everything will be fine. This will be good._

Bucky sits up and reaches for the welcome and information packet to learn more about what he can expect for the upcoming week. His therapist gave him some information, but it was mostly selling points about how great it will be for his recovery. He still isn’t entirely sure of what he’s going to be doing while he’s here.

Curious blue eyes scan over the various pictures in the pamphlet. They’re all of happy, almost too happy, people doing things such as yoga, horseback riding, scuba diving. Bucky doesn’t think he’ll be doing _any_ of that. Then he finds the schedule for the week. A crease in his brow forms when he realizes the only things that are on it is the welcome mixer and the mandatory workshops. Everything else is up to guest’s choice.

_Interesting_.

Another sigh as Bucky sets aside the paperwork, his gaze shifting to the view of the ocean outside his room. He has a private patio, and he mentally takes a note to make sure he sits out and enjoys the sunset one night before he leaves. A shower calls for him, deciding he should probably wash off the sweat and germs from traveling, making sure he looks somewhat presentable before meeting everyone else.

The welcome mixer is outside, on the beach, because of course it would be when you’re in Costa Rica. Bucky didn’t think that through when he got dressed and wishes he would’ve just come barefoot as he dredges through the sand in his boots. Why the fuck did he bring _boots_ to Costa Rica anyways?

“You must be Mr. Barnes!” A middle-aged man with dark hair greets as Bucky approaches the slowly forming group.

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky replies, running a sweaty palm over his jeans. “But, uh, Bucky, you can call me Bucky.”

“Well, welcome, Bucky, I’m Gerard,” the man holds a hand out and Bucky takes it. “Come, we’ve got drinks and food. I’ll introduce you to some friends.”

Bucky allows the man, Gerard, to place a gentle hand on his shoulder as he’s guided to the rest of the group. He meets a few instructors and counselors, and mingles with a handful of people who are also here for their own journey. He indulges in some fruity non-alcoholic drinks, enjoys some Costa Rican appetizers, and allows himself to relax.

At one point during the mixer, Gerard makes a point to address and welcome the whole group.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” he says, arms open wide with a warm smile on his face. “We are so happy to have you here, and to have the chance to help you in whatever journey brought you to us. During your stay, we encourage you to take the opportunity to try something new. Push yourself to do something you may not normally do, and put yourself out there—we’re here to catch you.”

Bucky listens intently, and his mind wonders back to the brochure he held earlier, the pictures of people doing yoga and horseback riding flashing in his mind. He takes a sip of his drink as he scans the faces of everyone in the crowd, curious what excursions they initially turned their noses up at.

“I’m sure you’ve all had the chance to review your schedule for the week,” Gerard states, bringing Bucky’s attention back to him, “and I’m also sure you’ve noticed it’s pretty much blank. This is intentional, because here at Metanoia we want you to choose what you think your journey is. What will bring you happiness? What will push you just that little bit out of your comfort zone, and open the doors you’ve been keeping shut? You choose your journey.”

The last bit of Gerard’s speech lingers with Bucky as he makes his way back to his room for the night. He doesn’t have a clue what his journey is. He’s here because it was strongly suggested he come and experience whatever _this_ place is. Maybe in the morning he’ll know what his journey is.

That hope stays with Bucky as he shuts the light off and crawls into bed.

**Day 2:**

The wish of morning bringing a small respite from the heat quickly fades when Bucky steps out to grab some breakfast. He slept well, better than he has been, but his mind still worked in overdrive. Worrying him with a bunch of _what ifs_ and _could be’s_ with what’s to come. The biggest worry of all, though, is not finding out what his journey is. What things should he do to try and find resolution? If he never discovers what his journey is, how can he finish it? How can he finish his recovery?

It was while he brushed his teeth he determined he wasn’t going to worry about it anymore. He’ll let whatever happens happen and just _pray_ everything works out. That’s a good plan, and one he sticks with as he walks into the dining room of the hotel.

More white Bucky sees as he looks around at the tables and chairs. The far wall is all windows, allowing the bright sun to make all the white in the room look even _more_ white. It’s so bright he has to squint while he looks for a table. He finds an empty one in a corner, and he knows he should be putting himself out there, but it’s only day two. He’s got all week to do that.

Eggs and bacon sounds delicious, but so does pancakes and a parfait. Bucky makes several trips to the food stations, trying to balance as much as he can with one hand, before finally settling into his seat. It’s when he realizes he forgot to grab silverware that he spots you.

He stands from his chair, but is frozen in place as he catches sight of you. Gliding, you move with an air of confidence and exuberance that Bucky can feel from across the room. The woman at the front desk had a bright smile, but it’s nothing in comparison to the one you flash in the direction of a server.

_Stunning_.

A distant sounding cough breaks Bucky from his trance. Blinking several times and creasing his brow in confusion, he focuses on an old man he met last night, Henry.

“Mornin’, son,” Henry says, “mind if I join you?”

“Oh, uh, sure, yeah, of course,” Bucky stammers, attempting to shift some of the plates around to make room for Henry’s food. “I need silverware, you need anything?”

“No thanks, I’m all good,” he replies, and Bucky watches as he sits in the chair across from him before lifting his gaze to find you again. It’s a lost cause as more people file into the room, your enthralling figure no where to be found.

After breakfast, Bucky decides to head back to his room for a bit. The intrigue of you has now overtaken his thoughts, and the worry of figuring out his journey is forgotten. He rummages through the papers he was given yesterday, looking for the form filled with pictures of counselors and instructors. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t find you.

He barely registered anything when he noticed you, but he’s certain you weren’t in a hotel uniform, and you aren’t listed on the brochure, so that means only one thing—you’re also here as a guest.

Quickly, Bucky reaches for the schedule of events. There’s a mandatory meditation workshop and a final group meeting at the end of the week, but what if he doesn’t see you there? You weren’t at the mixer last night, and Bucky would _definitely_ remember if you were.

Lower lip catching between his teeth, Bucky scans the activities for tomorrow.

_8am: Yoga for uncertainty: Begin, believe, trust, heal._

It’s not something he would normally participate in, but the title alone tells Bucky he should reconsider, regardless if there’s a chance he’ll see you there or not.

Walking out onto his patio, Bucky still holds the list of activities for the week. As he sits on a chair, gaze falling to the majestic waves of the ocean, he concedes.

Yoga it is.

**Day 3:**

This was a bad idea. Even with the hope of seeing you again, Bucky is instantly regretting his decision to come to this yoga class. Standing like an awkward giant, he clutches a mat under his arm and watches as people file in.

Is the title ‘Yoga for uncertainty’ derived from the fact it will induce uncertainty when you attend, or is it meant to squelch the overall feeling of uncertainty? Because right now, Bucky is thinking it’s the former.

Finally following everyone else’s lead, Bucky moves further into the room and slowly unrolls his mat. He’s grateful he decided to put his hair up in his room before he arrived. No one wants to see what he has to do to put it into a bun with one arm.

_Oh shit_.

A self-conscious hand comes to rest on his left shoulder as his blue eyes widen with worry. How the hell is he supposed to do yoga with one arm? Bucky’s certain he’s seen positions where people are balancing on their heads, using _two_ arms to keep themselves straight. It sounds ridiculous, but sometimes he forgets he only has one arm. Never having to worry about what he can and can’t do, or what adaptations he’d need until recently.

_Shit, fuck, shit, fuck_.

He drags his right hand down his face before it moves to rub the back of his neck. Eyes darting around the room, watching, as he decides his next move. He’ll just casually walk out, no need to draw attention. Anyways, Bucky doesn’t even see you so he has no reason to stay. He’s getting water, no, going to the bathroom. Just as long as he acts natural no one will notice…

“Good morning, everyone!” 

_Dammit_.

The instructor cheerily greets everyone as he makes his way to the front of the room.

“Thank you all so much for deciding to come to my yoga session. My name is Jeremiah, and my goal this morning is to help your body, mind, and soul achieve a level of peace.”

Jeremiah looks around the room with warm brown eyes, clearly taking in the different body types of everyone who has chosen to attend.

“This class is meant to ease uncertainty, bring a balance between the three sectors of our being, so for anyone who is worried, let me just say this class is a beginner’s yoga class. We are all here to succeed.”

A small sigh of relief pushes from Bucky’s lungs. Maybe if he had read the brochure a bit closer before attending, he wouldn’t have gotten so worked up over nothing. 

_Beginner’s yoga_ , he nods to himself in reassurance, _that should be easy_.

Fifteen minutes in and Bucky is realizing beginner’s yoga isn’t as easy as he initially thought. Okay, so he’s able to do most of the poses, but it’s the holding of said pose and focusing on his breathing that is not so easy. He’s never had to _think_ so much about what his body is doing, it just does what he wants it to.

Or it did what other people wanted it to.

As he shifts into Warrior II position, Bucky knows he should be worrying about keeping his breathing even; however, he’s tempted to take a quick glance around the room. It’s mostly women, he’s one of three men who came, but that doesn’t bother him.

Then his gaze travels towards the back of the room, and suddenly any attempt at keeping his breathes steady is lost entirely. Heart rate increasing, Bucky tries to hide the audible hitch in his breathing when he sees you. His attention swiftly moves back to the front of the room, almost losing his balance in the small shift of his equilibrium.

Taking a moment, Bucky closes his eyes and uses the sound of the relaxing music to calm himself. Harp and… are those wind chimes? The instructor then directs everyone to sit down on their mats, and the pull to look to you again is too strong.

He catches your attention, and _oh shit_ now you’re smiling at him. A small wave of panic rushes through him because _you’re still looking at him_ and he hasn’t acknowledged you, yet.

_Stop being fucking weird._

Bucky finally manages a smile, awkward but friendly enough, and nods his head. Then he focuses his attention forward and decides not to look in that direction of the room unless he absolutely has to.

When the class ends, Bucky takes his time rolling up his mat and putting his shoes back on. The brightness of your aura is seen from his peripheral, and a few times he couldn’t help but glance at you. Eventually, everyone is mostly gone and Bucky is able to retreat back to his room for a shower and a pep talk.

**Day 4:**

Bucky knows it’s probably a little creepy. He knows he shouldn’t have eavesdropped on you at breakfast, but when he overheard your plans for today, he decided they would be his plans, too. Okay, maybe it was more than a little creepy, but he’s intrigued by you and still learning how to get to know people. A for effort?

Pacing in his room, the newfound fluttering in his stomach begins to intensify as the clock ticks nearer to 10am. First on today’s agenda—hot stone massage. In theory, it does sound nice, but the thought of someone touching him was enough to make his skin crawl and nausea to swirl in his stomach. Bucky didn’t even consider getting one after initially reading about them until he was unknowingly persuaded to rethink it.

There’s no denying he’s nervous, for several reasons, but the excitement of getting to see you again helps to convince him he should go through with it. Maybe he’ll talk to you if he sees you, but what would he even say?

_Hi, nice to meet you. You’re downward facing dog looked amazing._

Nope, definitely not that. Although, true.

Frustration begins to seep in and a groan rumbles in his chest. Why can’t he just be normal?

Admittedly, he hasn’t had many opportunities to talk to different people over the last several years, so the idea of flirting with someone should induce the nervous energy he’s feeling. But its times like these when Bucky desperately wishes he could remember how easy it was for him to talk to people before. More often than not, he was the guy with two dames at his side, dancing the night away. Happy and carefree. Yet the mere _thought_ of talking to a beautiful woman now has his insides twisting and mind racing.

Not to mention _the arm_ , or lack there of.

Another groan and Bucky collapses into a chair. Mindlessly rubbing at the nub where his left arm used to be, his thoughts don’t get the chance to spiral any more because the clock on the wall tells him it’s time to go.

Not white. This room is not white Bucky quickly notices when he steps into the spa. Oak paneling covers the walls, warm uplighting illuminates the space, and there are plants _everywhere_. Calming music similar to what he heard in the yoga class plays through the overhead speakers, and the tranquil ambiance is doing its job until he spots you.

Feet catching on the floor, he slightly trips before catching himself and awkwardly checking in at the front desk. Then, he silently makes his way over to the waiting area where you sit flipping through a magazine.

The tall stature of Bucky’s figure is hard to overlook so it’s no surprise your eyes are moving from the glossy page in front of you to Bucky’s approaching figure. Meanwhile, all he can think about is _don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip_.

A smile. You give him a smile. Probably the kindest smile Bucky has ever seen, and he’s mesmerized by the way it brightens your features.

“Hi.”

Oh, your voice is so much sweeter when it’s directed at him.

This time, Bucky is a lot quicker to return your smile when he takes a seat across from you. Clearing his throat, he rubs a sweaty palm over his thigh in an attempt to keep his nerves in check.

“Hi.”

Silence falls between you then, and Bucky isn’t sure if he should say something else or just let that be the extent of the interaction. But then you make up his mind for him, and he’s mindful to keep himself focused on what you’re saying because he quickly finds he could easily get lost in the way your lips move around your words.

“You were at yoga yesterday, right?”

Another throat clear, because apparently Bucky is worried his voice will do something funny if he doesn’t make sure there isn’t anything in it before talking.

“Yeah, yeah, I was.” He nods, his hand still continuously rubbing along his thigh.

“What did you think?”

It’s brief, but Bucky doesn’t miss the glance to his missing left arm as you wait for him to respond. Darting his gaze to the floor, he self-consciously brings his right hand to rub at the back of his neck. Obviously, Bucky knew you would notice what’s not there, but this is foreign territory for him. Still learning how to navigate interactions with new people who aren’t familiar with his backstory. Or maybe you are, he doesn’t know.

“Uh, it was good,” he nods again, palm still soothingly rubbing at his neck. “Never done yoga before.” Finally, he brings his right hand to rest back in his lap.

A chuckle falls from your lips. Not mocking or condescending, almost in understanding of his confession.

“Me either,” you reply, “but you could’ve fooled me. Your downward facing dog was amazing.”

Shooting him a playful wink, Bucky chokes on air. A bashful heat takes over his body, creeping up his neck and tinting his cheeks. Are you flirting with him?

“I…uh, thanks, I guess,” he replies with a forced laugh.

Now you’re smirking at him. The fluttering in his stomach returns, but the longer he holds your gaze, he doesn’t feel on edge. Calm and collected, Bucky unintentionally responds to your energy and he’s easing out of this slightly flustered state.

“What’s your name?” You question, folding the magazine closed, full attention now on him.

“Bucky.”Lips pursing while you consider it. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky. I’m Y/n.”

The name bounces around in his head. Dizzying and magnificent, it’s his new favorite word.

“Nice to meet you.”

“What are you doing after this?”

The question catches him off-guard. Eyes widening and mouth falling slightly open, he quickly tries to process _you_ want to know what _he’s_ doing.

“Um, I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Wanna go to the beach later?”

Internally he’s freaking the fuck out, but he manages to keep his composure for the most part, attempting an air of nonchalance in his response.

“Yeah, yes,” he replies with a nod. And another nod and another and another.

_No, stop it, too much nodding._

He shifts in his seat and subconsciously clears his throat _again_. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Alright, cool.”

The voice of someone calling your name steals both of your attention. Standing from your chair, you toss the magazine back onto the coffee table between you.

“Meet you in the lobby at one?”

Nodding once more, this time with the appropriate amount of enthusiasm, Bucky smiles up at you. “That sounds great.”

You leave him with one last smile, and it’s the only thing Bucky can think about for the rest of the morning.

__________

The massage wasn’t terrible, better than he expected actually. Despite the tender touches though, Bucky still found himself flinching a few times throughout. But then his body and mind succumbed to the effects, limbs melting and relaxing into the table. He could say it was the soft music or the deep pressure, but it probably mostly had to do with the image of your smile when he closed his eyes. It was nice.

The rest of his morning dragged on. Time seemingly slowed down on purpose knowing he was anxious to be in your presence again. But then one c’clock _finally_ rolled around, and Bucky has never rushed so fast to be somewhere unknown with so many unfamiliar people before.

The air is hot and the sun bright. A gentle breeze blowing off the ocean helps to cool his skin even more as he sits under the umbrella with you. He’s thankful the resort’s beach provides chaise lounges to sit on, he isn’t too keen on the thought of getting sand all over his body.

“So, where’s your room?” You ask, glancing to Bucky and holding a hand up to shield your eyes from the brightness.

“Down that way,” he replies, gesturing to the right with his drink. It’s in a coconut with a little pink umbrella and he feels a little silly drinking out of it, but it seems to be the only way to get a drink at this place.

“Wait, your room faces the ocean?”

He nods as he takes a sip of his drink.

You scoff, dropping your hand to your lap with a gentle _slap_. “Well, that’s not fucking fair.”

For some reason, Bucky feels a smile beginning to pull at the corners of his lips. “What isn’t?”

“You get a beautiful view of the ocean and all I get to look at are some trees,” you reply, gesticulating towards the ocean as you speak. “Not to mention, there’s this annoying bird that lives right outside my window.” Pausing, you look to him with slight annoyance. “My alarm clock the past three mornings.” You finish with an eye roll to sell your point.

Bucky is _laughing_ now. He’s laughing and he doesn’t remember the last time he’s genuinely laughed at something.

“I guess I shouldn’t mention the sunset view then?”

“ _Sunset_?! Oh my god!” Your head falls back against the cushion of the lounger and Bucky takes a quick moment to appreciate your profile. “I guess when you show up late you get put into a less desirable room.”

“Why were you?” Bucky asks before he can even register what’s coming out of his mouth. “Late, I mean.” Voice dropping as he adds the last bit, then he’s thinking maybe he shouldn’t have asked that. It could be too personal of a reason. “It’s…I just, there was a welcome thing the first night, and…”

He watches you take a sip of your drink, lips curling upwards while you watch him stammer out a response. The nonchalance of your body language tells him he didn’t overstep and soon is voice fades until he just stops talking.

“Work,” you finally say, smile lingering. “I was late because of work. I didn’t get in until late Monday night so I missed the welcome mixer.” A beat passes before you add, “Wishing I was there?”

He’s silent for a moment as he considers your question. Coy smirk teasing at the corners of your lips, a glint in your eye that has his heart rate picking up just that little bit.

“Maybe I do.”

_Where the fuck did that come from?_

Is this flirting? Is he flirting? This feels like flirting.

The smile on your face widens, clearly enjoying the small glimpse of who Bucky _thinks_ he was in his past life—charmingly confident and playfully witty, a flirtatious quip always at the ready. And it stirs something inside him that’s been locked away for decades. He likes this feeling. It’s exhilarating and refreshing, and he wants more of it.

This time, Bucky takes the lead.

“So, what are we doing tomorrow?”

**Day 5:**

Horseback riding gets added to the list of things Bucky didn’t think he would be doing while he was here. But when you suggested trying it out, he couldn’t find a good enough reason to say no.

Initially hesitant and anxious, the horse, Trudy, seemed to sense this. She was a little rigid, unwilling to follow Bucky’s lead and had put up small fights along the way. He could feel himself getting worked up, ready to call it quits until you assured him with a kind smile _relax, it’s going to be okay_. Having no choice but to believe you, he pulled himself together and soon found a steady rhythm he _and_ Trudy liked.

Then, the ride came to an end and Bucky wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye for the day. The prospect of rejection was pushed to the very back of his mind, not an ounce of hesitation when he proposed _have dinner with me?_

A suggestion to have dinner in his room was met with an eager acceptance of his offer, followed by a playful excuse of only wanting to see the view of the sunset. Bucky knew that wasn’t the only reason you agreed to dinner with him, but even if it was, he’s not so sure he cares.

Room service arrives while he’s anxiously pacing around his room. He got your order before parting earlier, and Bucky has just enough time to set up the meals outside on the patio before there’s a gentle knock to his door.

Guiding you to the patio, Bucky is sure to point out the setting sun over the ocean.

“Wow,” you breathe, gaze fixated on the fiery sky before you. “You get to see this _every_ night?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies a little sheepishly.

“Lucky bastard.”

You give him a playful smirk, one Bucky returns, and then you’re both sitting down to eat.

Bucky ordered pasta. It sounded good, but more importantly, it’s easy to eat with one hand. No worrying about how he’ll manage to gracefully cut his food, allowing him to focus entirely on you.

“Y’know, I wasn’t actually gonna come on this trip,” you say, peaking up from your meal briefly.

Bucky is slightly startled by your confession, fork hanging in the air. “Really? Why?”

“Mm,” you hum, attention fully on your meal as you cut up a piece of chicken. “Well, my therapist said it would be good for me, so I booked the trip, but then I don’t know. I’ve done one of these before, and after, I just ended up right back where I started. I guess the more I thought about it, I didn’t see the point in going on another one.”

“What was the other one like?”

“Nothing like this.” You smile at him, but he can see a hidden sadness in the depths of your eyes. It makes him hurt on the inside.

The intrigue you create has him wanting to understand everything about you. What brought you here? Is your past just as sorrowfully colorful and depressing as his?

“What was so bad about where you were before? I mean, before the trip. You said...”

“We all have our demons, don’t we?” You look to him, smile fading and a seriousness taking over your features. “A past we wish we could forget?”

They’re not really questions you’re looking for answers to, Bucky can sense. And it seems by the knowing look on your face, you have some knowledge about how much truth he finds in those questions.

“I was in a bad relationship,” you continue in a low voice. “ _Really_ bad, for years. It messed with my head and I had a hard time getting out, but eventually I did. And I’ve still got some things I’m working on because of it, but I’m doing better.” There’s another smile on your lips, still small, but more assured this time, silently conveying you are doing better. “I know it’s no comparison to what you’ve been through...”

Bucky is quiet. Processing your words and putting himself in your shoes, but he doesn’t really have to, does he? For years he had been in a tumultuous relationship, used and abused, by a terrible, horrific organization. The difference in severities of his situation versus your situation don’t matter, neither should’ve ever happened.

“It’s still wrong,” he says softly.

You nod in understanding, letting your gaze fall back to your food, but then you’re looking back to Bucky when he speaks again.

“I’m glad you changed your mind.”

**Day 6:**

Today, Bucky learns it wasn’t so dumb he brought boots to Costa Rica after all. After breakfast, you had asked him to join you for a hike to a waterfall, and that’s all it took for Bucky to agree.

The trail is a satisfying challenge through the lush Costa Rican forest. Unsurprisingly it’s hot, sweat building over his entire body, but the promise of a cool swim at the end helps Bucky to push forward. Not to mention the view he has of you as he follows from behind. He’s a little ashamed to admit it, but he’s also only human.

A clearing up ahead and the sound of gushing water tells Bucky the waterfall is close. As he steps through the tree line, the air nearly catches in his lungs when he’s met with the full view of it. Majestic and enchanting, it’s like a painting come to life, and he has to pause for a moment to just take it all in.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say, voice a distant sound to Bucky over the roaring of the falls and his own thoughts.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a soft sigh of disbelief.

Something in Bucky’s peripheral catches his attention—you, taking off your backpack then removing your shirt. He quickly looks away, embarrassment flushing his cheeks and raising his body temperature _even more_ , but his eyes naturally trail back to your figure.

The bikini top you wear leaves little to the imagination, and Bucky suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself. He knows he should probably look away, he _wants_ to look away, but seeing you nearly bare and moving around before him is just as mesmerizing as the waterfall. Then his mind finally catches up with what you’re doing, and it has his brow creasing in confusion.

“Um, what are you doing?” He asks, standing motionless a few yards away as he watches you rub what looks to be mud all over your arms and legs.

“It’s volcanic ash mud,” you reply matter-of-factly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Uh, okay...”

He remains where he stands, continuing to silently observe you scoop globs of mud from a large hole in the ground.

“One of the packets said mud baths detoxify and rid the body of impurities,” you explain, not looking up from what you’re doing.

Bucky hums in acknowledgment, still not entirely convinced he understands the science behind it.

“Would you mind?” You ask, gesturing to your back as you hold up a handful of the almost black sludge.

Taken slightly aback at your request, Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise and he fumbles for a response. “Uh…yeah…sure, yes.”

“Thanks,” you smile

Slowly, Bucky makes his way over to you. A steadying breath passes through his lips as he steps up to you, and soon the waterfall is forgotten when he watches you turn around to reveal your other side. The skin of your back is smooth, begging to be touched, and Bucky gets lost in the idea of it, frozen in place as his mind tries to register what he’s about to do.

Sure, he’s become comfortable in your company over the past few days, but this is new. Apart from the massage, Bucky can’t remember the last time he shared physical contact with another person. A handshake? Sure. Maybe a hug? Okay. But that was usually with _Steve_ and Steve doesn’t count. The last time Bucky willingly touched another person? Not just a handshake or a brief hug? Well, that’s an even more distant memory than the time he spent all his train money to buy hot dogs at Rockaway Beach with Steve.

“Everything okay?” You softly giggle, glancing over your shoulder at him.

Blinking a few times, he clears his throat to respond. “Yeah, yes.”

Hand shaking and heart racing, Bucky tries his best to hide the nervousness radiating from his being by quickly bringing a glob of mud to your back and spreading it around swiftly. There’s a few times where he lets the touch of his fingers linger around the base of your neck, the cusp of your shoulder, or the bend of your waist. It takes way longer than it should for Bucky to coat your back, but you don’t seem to mind.

“Okay, done,” he finally mumbles, taking a step away from you, gaze falling to the ground below.

When you turn around, you give him another smile in thanks, but it quickly fades when you register his expression.

Anxious, nervous, even more so than just a few seconds ago, because what if you expect him to take his shirt off now, too? He’s been to the beach with you, but he was able to stay covered up, only sitting together on the chairs and never going for a swim.

The rise and fall of his chest picks up, crescent moons form in his palm as he clenches his fist, vision tunneling—Bucky easily recognizes what this is. It’s been a while since he’s had a panic attack, and _fuck_ he was doing so well.

“Bucky...”

He doesn’t hear it right away.

“Bucky...”

A few more times until _finally_ he hears it. His name, soft and warm, falling from your lips and pulling him from his thoughts.

“Sorry.” He reluctantly meets your concerned gaze, but it’s painted in so much understanding it helps to release some of the tension in his chest.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you gently assure. “You also don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

A small smile graces your lips, coaxing a relieved sigh from Bucky. But then he’s looking to the ground again, this time not in fear, but in determination. He’s been trying new things all week, why stop now? You haven’t given him the slightest bit of indication you’re put off by the fact he only has one arm, so why should he worry so much if you see him shirtless?

_The scars._

So many scars. Red and angry reminders of where he’s been, what he’s done. The darkness and violence of his past reflected in the cracked and broken skin. They aren’t pretty to look at, _that’s_ why he worries so much.

_Fuck it._

With one final deep breath, Bucky looks to you for a brief moment, jaw clenching as he builds up the courage, and then he does it. He reaches behind his neck, grabs a fistful of his shirt by the collar, and swiftly pulls it over his head.

Instantly, his eyes lock with yours. Chest heaving in anticipation as he waits for the rejection. Waits for you to _just say it already_ —disgusting, foul, _put your fucking shirt back on_.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, you stare almost in amazement at his form. Like you feel so honored and privileged he’s trusted you enough to make himself so vulnerable with you. Tears reflect in your eyes, and he can’t stop his own from welling up because in this moment, he’s never felt so free.

After several quiet minutes, maybe it’s only seconds, he’s not entirely sure, your voice finally fractures the silence.

“God, you’re fucking hot,” you laugh, a small cry breaking through as a few tears fall.

Bucky laughs, too. In relief, in gratitude, in _confidence_.

“Thanks,” he chuckles, bringing his hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“Want some mud?”

He joins you by the mud hole, turning around to give you access to coat his back. The delicate touches of your hands on his body are no comparison to the hot stone massage. This feeling has him easily relaxing and relishing in the tenderness of being touched by another person again.

But as you draw closer to his left shoulder, he instinctively sucks in a breath, body going unintentionally rigid. Your ministrations stop when you feel the tension in his back.

“Is this okay? I don’t want—”

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky promptly replies, taking another deep breath. “It’s just... I haven’t been... It’s okay.”

It _is_ okay, but Bucky can tell you aren’t entirely convinced just yet, as your hand still lingers a bit from his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says again with a bit more certainty, turning his head to the side and seeing you nod from his peripheral.

You work in silence as you carefully rub the dark, grainy substance over his shoulder, and down to where his arm used to be.

“I’ve seen you look at it, y’know,” Bucky finally says, his head still turned to the side. “Why haven’t you asked?”

“It’s not my question to ask,” you answer honestly. “Anyways, do you think it would make a difference if I knew the answer?”

“I don’t... I don’t know.”

You stop what you’re doing and nudge him to turn around to face you. Steel blue eyes meet the intense gaze you give him before you respond.

“If I thought it would make a difference, I wouldn’t be here,” you answer simply. “I’ve only known you for a few days, but you have so much to offer, Bucky. This,” you gesture to his missing limb, “means nothing. And if you ever meet someone who thinks otherwise... Well, I don’t think you should be around them, anyways.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He stands in stunned silence, your words resonating inside his mind and tearing down almost every insecurity he’s ever had. He hopes he can hold onto this even after he leaves this place.

“C’mon,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind you. “We’re gonna jump off the top of that waterfall.”

“Is that safe?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” You turn to give him a playful smirk before letting go and beginning the climb to the top.

It’s a fairly easy climb. There’s plenty of sturdy rocks and holes for him to keep his footing and hoist himself up. It doesn’t take more than five minutes to reach the top, and what a view it is from up here. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Bucky doesn’t know where to look first. From the intense flow of water to the thick greenery of trees and plants, it’s just as surreal from the top, maybe more so, than from down below.

“Oh, this is higher than I thought.”

Bucky looks to you, a smile curling his lips as he registers the traces of regret and uncertainty crinkling your features.

“Nun uh,” he says with a soft chuckle. “You dragged me up here. We’re jumping off.”

He nods his head in reassurance when you turn to him, holding his hand out for you to take.

“We’ll do it together.”

Silently, you place your hand in his and he grips it like his life depends on it.

“Ready?” One last look to you before he begins the countdown. “1...2...3!”

Pushing off the rock, Bucky propels forward, his hand never letting go of yours as you both free fall to the pool below. It’s not until he feels the impact of water that he finally releases your hand. Breaking through the surface, he catches his breath, shaking his hair out of his face and he _laughs_. The exhilaration and adrenaline coursing through his body has him losing control, and he’s in a fit of giggles with you.

“That was incredible!” You exclaim as you manage to catch your breath.

Bucky doesn’t respond. He’s still laughing to himself, but it slowly begins to die when he catches a glimpse of you and the look in your eye. As you swim closer to him, the beating of his heart picks up. A new surge of adrenaline flows through his body not caused from jumping off a cliff.

Two arms snake over his neck first. Then Bucky feels your legs around his waist, and his right arm wraps around your back to bring your body into his. It’s happening before Bucky can even process it. His lips on yours. Your lips on his. A kiss so full of desperation and passion, shared between two people who hardly know anything about one another, but who know just enough. Even with your body weighing him down in the water, Bucky has never felt lighter.

So caught up in the moment, he doesn’t get the chance to worry if he still remembers how to kiss. If he’s good at it, what he should do with his hand, with his tongue. His body responds how he thinks it should, and he just gets to be here in this moment with you.

Eventually, someone pulls back for air. Bucky thinks it might’ve been you because he’s certain he could kiss you forever.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No,” Bucky nearly pants. “No.”

He pulls you back into him, lips crashing onto yours for another searing kiss, cutting off his voice and any other thoughts you may have about it because there is no need for an apology.

The hike back to the resort takes a little longer, the incessant urge to stop and kiss along the way hard to resist. And as it comes into view, Bucky is desperate to ride out this high for as long as he can.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asks, a glint of hope flashing in his bright blue eyes.

You smile at him, a sense of relief emanating from you because he’s reciprocating the same feelings.

“Of course.”

You come to him later that night, once you’ve both showered and changed, and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to pull you in for yet another kiss. It was only an hour, maybe two, since he last saw you, but it was too much time, too long to be a part. His lips tingled the entire time as he waited to feel yours again.

And when you climb into bed together, it isn’t sexual or provocative. He holds you close and you curl into his side, a quiet comfort and understanding this is all that’s needed in this moment.

**Day 7:**

A soft kiss to his cheek, then another, then another, trailing up his jawline. The faint brush of tender lips to the shell of his ear stirs Bucky from his deep sleep.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” you whisper, “or we’re gonna miss it.”

“Miss what?” The words come out grainy, voice rumbling deep in his chest as his body fights off the last remnants of sleep.

“The turtles!” You softly exclaim with a giggle. “They’re hatching today. You really didn’t read the brochures, did you?”

“Guess I didn’t need to,” he yawns, eyes still closed as sleep continues to tempt him. “What time is it?”

“Four.”

That pulls Bucky out of his dazed state. “In the morning?!”

“No, the evening,” you laugh with a playful eye roll. “Yes, the morning. Now get up and get ready!”

With little room for argument, Bucky begrudgingly gets out of bed to put some shoes on. Luckily, the turtle hatching isn’t far from his room, and it’s a short walk down the beach. A small group of people have already gathered, apparently four am is just a _little_ bit too early for most people. It is for Bucky, too, but it doesn’t bother him what time it is. When you ask him to do something, he’s there.

The first cracks in the sand appear and everyone goes silent for a moment. Hushed whisperings of awe begin to pick up as one tiny head and a flipper push through. Not too long after the first one, a second head, then a third, and soon there’s a small army of tiny baby sea turtles pouring out of a hole. Instinctively they begin their journey towards the ocean, crawling and pushing forward against any obstacle.

Bucky watches in astonishment. The beginnings of new life, innocent and pure, not yet tainted by the harsh and cruel realities of the world. To be here and witness such an amazing cycle, it’s incredible and overwhelming. It has Bucky thinking about himself, about this journey he isn’t sure he’s quite figured out just yet, understanding he still has time. Time to start over and begin anew.

His vision blurs and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he senses your hand slipping into his. A gentle squeeze brings him back down to earth and he blinks away a few tears.

“Thank you,” he whispers, squeezing your hand in return, eyes still on the scene before him.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. Instead, Bucky feels you bring yourself closer to him, sliding your other hand up his arm and resting your head on his shoulder.

The rest of the day is spent doing whatever sounds interesting together. Breakfast in Bucky’s room, lounging on the beach, a walk around the resort. At one point, Bucky spots a small group of monkeys and he drags you over to watch them eat some fruit.

Try as he might, Bucky can only live in ignorant bliss for so long, though. Too often his mind pulls him from these happy moments with you to remind him this is it. This is the last day he has with you. He tries to not let that fact sour the mood, and he’s continuously putting on a smile for you. Forced and slightly sad, it’s almost the same as yours when you return it.

As the night draws nearer, he becomes restless and anxious, even more so than he has been all day. There’s something about the receding warmth and light from the sun that creates an incessant reminder of tomorrow and what’s to come.

But tonight, he’s putting on a brave face and enjoying the final moments he has with you here. The farewell gathering, complete with a bonfire and music, is the last scheduled event for the trip. He silently gets ready in his room, impatiently waiting for you to come to him.

Giving himself another once over in the mirror by the bathroom, a gentle knock pulls his attention to the door, and he opens it not even a second later. Something told Bucky to bring at least one nice shirt when he packed for this trip, and he’s glad he did. Its just a simple white button up and a pair of jeans, but when he sees the look you give him? He feels like a man worth all the money in the world.

And he’s sure the look he gives you is no different. A sundress, colorful and airy, drapes over your body and flows with your movements. It fits you in the best way possible and Bucky can only stare in disbelief at your effortless beauty. He pulls you in for a kiss before taking your hand in his, leading the way out.

The bonfire comes into view, and it almost reminds Bucky of that first night, except this time, he’s decided to go barefoot and he hasn’t come alone. A group has already formed, a small band is playing live music while drinks and appetizers are being passed around. It’s a night of reflections and staying open to possibilities.

Not too long after arriving, Gerard is calling for everyone’s attention, a final thank you and goodbye for coming.

“We hope you’ve been able to learn something new about yourself, or allowed yourself the chance to see things differently, try new things while you were here. We wish you well on your journey, and hope you’ve found what you were looking for.”

The words resonant with Bucky as he considers them for a moment. He had been so caught up in _you_ he forgot to figure out what his journey was. But then he thinks, maybe it was never just one, obvious thing; one clear idea. He’s tried new things, put himself out there, and he feels almost born again. Looking at the world through a different lens than when he arrived. The world is still scary, yes, but if he knows there are more people in it like you, he thinks he’ll be okay.

He brings the back of your hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to the soft skin. You smile then, and he smiles, too. Feels it crinkling the corners of his eyes and stretching across his face—genuine and full of content. He could live in this moment forever.

Still holding onto your hand, Bucky doesn’t want to let it go, but he feels you both being pulled apart, getting swept up into conversations with other people met throughout the week. As Bucky sits beside Henry, he barely registers anything the older gentleman is saying. Catching snippets here and there, however, most of his attention is on you. Gaze rarely faltering, he watches you talk and laugh with another woman. And he doesn’t miss the glances you make in his direction, either.

The band shifts to play a new song, and you’re dismissing yourself from the woman and walking towards him with a coy smirk on your face. He can read you like a book, and before he can protest, you’re reaching for his hand. Bucky feigns reluctance as he excuses himself from the conversation with Henry, allowing you to pull him up for a dance.

It’s been awhile since he’s danced. Let his body do whatever it wanted and move to the rhythm of the music. He nearly forgot how much he loves it.

He twirls you, spins and sways with you, and Bucky is losing himself in the moment. Laughter falls from your lips, and it’s the only song he ever wants to dance to. The fire flickers across your features, illuminating the color of your eyes and brightening your smile. And then he feels it.

A want begins to build within, burning hotter than any flame. Acting on pure instinct, Bucky brings you into him, hand on your jaw, his lips catching yours. The want quickly turns into something more, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. And when he pulls away, the lust reflecting in your eyes tells him it’s the same for you, too. It lights a renewed fire inside him, lowering his inhibitions and making him feel _alive_.

Grabbing you by the hand, Bucky stumbles with you through the sand back to his room. Both drunk on each other and the anticipation of what’s to come. The moment the door closes, he pins you against the wall. A fervent kiss to your lips that quickly deepens, tongues interlacing with one another. Bucky’s hand is on your jaw, your neck, trailing down to your waist as you unbutton his shirt.

He’s _desperate_ for this. Desperate to remember what it’s like to be this way with another person again. It’s been so long he’s forgotten how intense this feeling is—so powerful and unrelenting.

Bucky senses you’re right there with him. It shows in the needy touches, the quiet moans between kisses. Then, his hand splays on the wall above your head, grounding himself in hopes of not passing out as you undo his jeans and reach inside.

It’s difficult for Bucky to feel where his body is in space, a whimper falling from his lips as his head rolls back, dizzy and overwhelmed. Only a few slow pumps of your hand has him grabbing your wrist to stop before catching your lips in another eager kiss.

“I need it,” he pants. “I need you.”

Guiding him to the bed, clothes falling to the floor along the way, Bucky follows your lead. He’s feeling bold, yes, but this is all still essentially new to him. Pulling him down on top of you, Bucky quickly settles in the space between your legs, hovering over you he hesitates as a brief realization of what’s happening hits.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you reply with a kiss, “more than okay.”

“I don’t... This is...” he struggles to explain what he’s thinking. He hasn’t don’t this in a while, but he’s still aware of the consequences and precautions. Finally, he just blurts it out. “I’m clean, but I don’t have any protection.”

Stopping the assault on his neck, you pull back, eyes scanning over his features. Heartache and appreciation swirls with the desire that clouds them.

“I’m clean, too,” you say, voice trailing before you continue lowly, “and I can’t...get pregnant.”

He understands it now. The way you looked at him when he exposed himself to you at the waterfall, because he feels it, too. Sharing something so personal and sensitive, he hopes it’s as liberating for you as it was for him.

A kiss, one full of respect and promise, as he leans down on his elbow and he slides into you. Slowly pushing in to give you both the chance to adjust, his lips never leave yours. It’s exhilarating and all consuming when he’s fully inside, eyes dampening and body shuddering at the indescribable pleasure. After several timid movements, he’s able to pick up a steady rhythm, gaining a newfound confidence with each thrust and mewl that falls from your pretty lips.

Then there’s a push from your hips and hands to his shoulder, and he’s taking the hint. Thankful for his super human strength, he’s easily able to shift positions and pull you on top with one arm. From this angle, Bucky is dumbfounded as he looks up to you. He’s accepted this new life with only one arm, but _fuck_ if he doesn’t wish he had two in this moment. Hand trailing up your thigh, over the curve of your hip, to the swell of your breasts, anywhere he can reach.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, blue eyes shining in the moonlight.

Heavy pants, broken whimpers, and soft words of encouragement pass between heady kisses. Fingertips pressing hard into your waist as your bodies work together, and he can feel you begin to tremble, fluttering around him. The fire within reaches unimaginable heights, burning flames of pleasure up his spine and alighting his entire body in euphoria. Pushing into you one last time, hips stalling and flush against yours, he wraps his arm tightly around your waist to keep you as close as possible. He finishes with a low, satisfied grunt deep in his chest.

It takes several still moments full of steadying breaths and hard swallows before he’s coming to. Your eyes, bright and elated, shine down at him, and Bucky pulls you in for one final kiss.

The moon lowers in the sky, the threat of tomorrow creeping closer and closer, and Bucky finds it difficult to fall asleep. Apparently you do, too. Holding each other close, silently waiting for the inevitable between brief moments of light slumber and lasting kisses.  
  


**Day 8 (Departure):**

Morning comes much too soon, and it takes Bucky a moment to realize he isn’t in a dream. Bodies pressed together, bare and vulnerable, just as the two of you were last night. He takes a slow breath through his nose, the warm exhale causing you to stir against him. It encourages him to place a tender kiss to your shoulder, reveling in the feel of your soft skin against his lips again and again and again.

He could get used to waking up this way, he thinks. Tangled in sheets and warm limbs, but then cold, harsh reality seeps in—the trip is over. In a few short hours, you’ll both be on separate planes, back to your own lives.

A heavy silence lingers as you lounge with him in bed, stealing kisses and occasionally adjusting the hold you have on one another. Neither wanting to acknowledge the painful farewell that’s on the horizon, but then the clock is screaming it’s time.

Wordlessly, he packs his suitcase, folded shirts and precious memories stuffed inside together. After, he walks with you back to your room, quietly sitting as you do the same. The air becomes too thick, constricting his throat and Bucky is finding it harder and harder to look at you; a first since meeting you.

Now, standing in the lobby with you in an attempt to push off the inevitable that little bit more, he briefly thinks how he found it so beautiful when he arrived, now it’s the ugliest thing he’s ever seen.

Your shuttle arrives first. Awkwardly standing together for a moment, neither wanting to be the first to seal this fate. Bucky feels a mix of emotions taking over—sadness it’s over, happiness it happened, and gratefulness he gets to leave with everything you’ve given him. Holding your gaze with a weak smile, he pulls you in for a final kiss goodbye.

“Thank you,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours, “for everything.” He cups your jaw, thumb running soothing strokes along your slightly damp cheek.

“I’m really happy I met you, Bucky,” you softly say.

“I’m so happy I met you.”

Reluctantly, Bucky lets you go then. He watches you reach for your suitcase and head for the exit, and suddenly a bout of anxiety swirls in his chest as a painful realization hits.

“Wait!” He calls, instantly getting your attention. You look to him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “I don’t... I don’t have a way to contact you.”

For once, he’s cursing himself for not having a phone. Why did he think he didn’t need one again? He wants to be able to reach out to you once he’s settled back home, but he also wants to assure you what happened last night isn’t a regular thing for him, and it meant a lot.

It doesn’t paint the best picture—sleeping with someone on the last night of a trip, any confusing thoughts or feelings never having to be dealt with knowing the next day you’ll be far away. That wasn’t his intention, and he’s definitely not that type of guy. He’s almost certain you know it’s not that way, but regardless, he’d really like to be able to talk with you again.

There’s a pause as you consider his words, gaze holding his before responding.

“It’s okay,” you say with a smile and watery eyes. “I’m sure we’ll find each other again.”

It’s not truly comforting, but there’s something in the way you say it that has Bucky believing it’s true. You give him one last smile, one he is sure to ingrain in his memory, before you turn to leave. As he watches you pass through the sliding doors, Bucky catches sight of something—a sign. Reading it silently to himself, it stirs that same bit of excitement and uncertainty in him the first time he saw it, but now, it’s welcomed and embraced because he’s ready.

_Welcome to Metanoia in beautiful Costa Rica! Your journey awaits you..._


End file.
